


The Paper Alchemist

by SpaghettiCanActivist



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: AU, Adoption, Ed and Al are victims of the war, Gen, No homunculi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaghettiCanActivist/pseuds/SpaghettiCanActivist
Summary: Edward and Alphonse Elric went to live with their Ishvalan aunt, widowed sister in law of their mother. They are victims of the civil war and end up in Central as homeless orphans, both scarred by their experiences. Maes Hughes meanwhile is attempting to track down a violent syndicate in Central all while considering starting his own family.





	1. Chapter 1

Central City was akin to many metropolitan cities, the east side glittering with a jewel like abundance, rich buildings embellishing wide berthed streets and the little toy ornaments of people flouncing along in wonderfully crisp clothing of lavish quality, heads bobbing up and down and in and out of automobiles and the occasional horse drawn carriage. You could follow these bounty swollen roads west, until they began to narrow and asphalt let up to the older cobblestone. People’s clothing was more practical, though still warm and fed. Blue uniforms were more prominent here and the well fed spirit of middle class was felt with keen contentment.

Just a tad more west and you met the chill, pragmatic buildings of the military and government, walls stretching up in an unwavering display of the strength and efficiency which marked the silent pride of the Amestris stratocracy. West again, you crept into narrow streets and the teetering position that plagued the dregs that were the lower middle class. People who lived well enough to be happy but were always looking with a gleaming eye at the wonders of the rich. Past here, yet farther west, the streets narrowed again, only a few main roads acting as the veins to the labyrinths of alleys. The poor were cast here, the unwanted and the refugees. It eventually ran far enough where ghettos were the only thing to make up the westernmost part of the city. The people here were the ones who slaved away in the northern part of the city where the great factories acted as the large, metal, pumping heart of the city. These people didn't see the east with its romantic buildings and dressed dolly players which froliced in it, nor did they see the south of the city where the military rooted itself and the majority of the transit system existed.

It was in this part, trotting along one of the arteries of road, that a blonde head could be seen moving with direct intent to the east. It was a small child, just ten, their gait off beat as one leg planted itself forward and a makeshift prosthetic followed. A threadbare coat was pulled around him, brilliant red retained by some unusually potent dye. He had a worn leather messenger bag slung around his shoulders and his head was ducked down, breaths puffing out a gentle fog in the frosted air while he had his hand jammed in his pocket. One sleeve of the jacket had been tucked into the empty pocket and it was apparent that he was missing more than one limb.

He made his way farther east, until the streets widened just a little and he began to enter the area of the lower middle class.

A sharp whistle sounded, the clanging of a trolley causing him to jump away from the gutter of the street where he’d been walking and onto the sidewalk. The trolley sped past, wind whipping unkindly around him. He shivered, sniffed, his nose red from cold. Ducking through the throng of pedestrians he moved a little farther down, coming to the market area. He jogged up to one of the stores and approached a man.

The man was aproned, rough tan arms hefting a crate of grocery. It was a young man, a shopboy that worked for the grocer. He noticed the blonde boy and a broad grin splayed across his face.

“Eddie, didn't think you'd come by today.”

Ed didn't answer, tucking his chin onto his chest and looking up with gold eyes, a grumpy look on his face.

“Well,” the man said, setting the crate down as Ed didn't respond, “You're in luck because Mr. Poll isn't here, you can set up right out front. Just remember, Mr.Poll catches you I ain’t doing anything and if the police have a problem I’m gonna feed you to the fucking wolves, got it kid?”

Ed gave a small nod and the man laughed harshly, taking the crate in arm again.

“Twenty percent Eddie, twenty percent or I make it so you can't even show your face near here without getting your ass thrown out. You remember that, alright,” he finished jovially.

The man moved into the store and Ed just turned, surveying the crowd of people rushing by. He rubbed his hand against his chest, blowing on it before he turned to his bag. He rifled through it a few moments, and then pulled out a piece of paper.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” he yelled, young voice pitching high and sweet to raise over the swell of sound that came from the clamor of late morning in the market area.

“The answers to all your problems! The solution to any difficulty! Step up and learn how you can solve the issues in your life!”

The showman routine was relatively ignored, only a few heads turning and no one slowing. The boy sighed, his one hand clutching the paper while he leaned down to push at his prosthetic leg. It bent with a whining creak of protest and Ed dropped to his knee. He set the paper on the frightfully cold ground and shivered. Glancing up at the crowd, Ed began talking loudly again.

“Called enchantment! Studied by every great man in history!-” Ed slapped a hand against the paper and light glowed blue, shining from the intricate ink lines that had been drawn on the cheap, thin white paper.

The buzzing sound in the air drew people’s gazes and the blue light held them.

“The great art of Hermes Trismegistus! The esteemed work of Alchemy!” Ed’s voice rose with the swirl of alchemy.

A small crowd had gathered and the blue light and the sound climaxed, a frozen statue of a horse appearing magically. It wasn't magical, in any way, merely a carefully constructed equation which pulled the water molecules from the air and created a vacuum of energy which would present itself in a few moments.

The crowd that had gathered gasped as the statue burst into flame and the vapor created the mystical effect that smoke often gave. Once it cleared, Ed was looking into the wide eyed faces of people who had just been prepped for the slaughter, a truly successful performance. Ed smiled, sweeping the paper up with his hand and waving it from his kneeling position.

“Just a few lines and very careful calculations and the power of nature is in your hands!”

Ed flipped open his bag and pulled out more paper.

“Need to fix a broken motor? Need your roof fixed? Want to change water to alcohol? I have it all, the calculations which harass the great minds of the military and take hours, no days, to put together, all written out and only in need of being activated!”

Ed held up the papers higher and waved them, watching the hungry eyes of the crowd follow his motions. A good amount of people continued walking, disbelief or derision causing them to move on. A decent amount stayed though and the crowd caught the attention of other passerbys who were more gullible.

Ed continued, slowly standing up and then holding the papers aloft.

“A thousand cenz for one, just a thousand cenz! Get one now before they're all gone!”

People rushed forward and Ed began passing paper and receiving coin. It really was a con, no doubt the entire crowd not holding an ounce of alchemic ability among them and therefore incapable of actually using the papers. It didn't matter even if they did because Ed had changed each calculation just so, ensuring that if someone accidentally did alchemy nothing would happen, they were just pieces of cheap paper, 10 cenz a piece. It was a horribly underhanded way to make money and always left Ed feeling like a bad person. He shoved those thoughts down quickly, the face of his nine year old brother waiting back at what they called home filling his mind. If he didn’t get money, his little brother would freeze and starve. After selling so many he slipped away, leaving a demanding group of people behind. Everyone wanted an easy fix to life.

Heading down the street Ed felt the weight of the coins in his pocket and a small smile came onto his face. Tonight he and Al were going to have something good to eat, maybe he’d be able to afford those mittens Al had been so struck by.

Suddenly, there was an explosion, masonry streaming past and into the street. Ed’s senses were overwhelmed, everything seemed to go blank and he felt his body lifted up by the explosive force and thrown into the street, small pieces of plaster biting angrily into his skin. The next moment it was horribly still, and then one long ongoing scream was rending the air. Ed was on the ground among rubble, his head buzzing while it felt like his body was floating apart from his mind.

For one heart stopping moment he was back in Ishval, bombs tearing everything apart while he screamed for Al, screamed for his aunt even though she was dead. Then he came back to himself and blinked away the white dust that seemed to be caked on him. He was on the street, freezing wet of the road seeping through his thin clothes. Rubble was on him along with a sizable piece of masonry pinning his leg to the ground.

The woman was still screaming and Ed felt nausea seize him, his head feeling like it was filled with stuffing and drifting somewhere far from his body. Rolling partially to the side he threw up, entire body shaking as his adrenaline died and the cold of the day came back with swift bitterness.

Ed mouthed his brother’s name and struggled to stand up. He shoved clumsily at the piece of brick that trapped his leg, finally getting it to tumble to the side. Wheezing he looked at it. His prosthetic had been damaged and the rotor mechanism which allowed for it to bend was seized up. He struggled to stand up, white dust falling from him. Ed stumbled, nearly falling. He coughed harshly.

Panic seized him, horrible memories still flitting close. He needed to get away, from whatever or whoever blew that building up. That or the Amestrian military police who no doubt would show up.

Ed got his balance and began to jog off, trying to get into a run, he kept stumbling, his prosthetic threatening to buckle after the damage it had sustained. He glanced over his shoulder and saw blue uniforms beginning to arrive. He picked up pace. Rounding a corner he nearly ran right into a tall man in black boots and that blue uniform Ed despised so much.

He turned to run but the man grabbed him roughly. 

“Where are you going?” The police officer asked harshly.

Ed gulped, knowing that luck was not with him today.

 

 

The soft clip of heeled boots sounded in quick successive dichotomy to the quiet sound of clothing rustling as Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes walked quickly down the hall. A break had been found in the Olallie crime syndicate case. A big break according to the call. They had bagged a guy who worked for the syndicate, one who worked directly with Olallie.

He shoved the glass door open, wind sweeping in from the outside. He strode down the steps and headed toward the black car that was waiting for him. Maes motioned to the driver before opening the back door and climbing into the vehicle. The police station said they were holding the guy and were waiting on Maes.

Maes couldn't help feeling excitement bubbling in him. He’d been trying to get something on the Olallie syndicate for a while, but it was a tight knit group, a large part of it made up of Drachman immigrants. They came from a cold place and were tight lipped people, there was little the Amestrian police force could threaten them with that their Drachman brothers wouldn't inflict three times over if they opened their mouths. But Maes could get them to talk, at least he planned on it with this one, they’d never caught someone who’d met the leader of the syndicate let alone worked closely with him.

The Olallie group mainly dealt with illegal weapons trading, that and an ugly mess of hiring themselves out as mercenaries, willing to do work for foreign countries who wanted terrorist acts and assassinations done. They were a real problem in Central and Maes had been working the case for a while.

The car pulled up in front of the station and Maes stepped out, moving through the doors that were held open by saluting soldiers. A short, stocky policeman stepped forward, bright blue eyes and blonde hair standing out.

“Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, you’re here for our suspect,” he said.

There was a lilt of amusement in the man’s voice which made Maes’ previous excitement falter and immediate suspicion and wariness fill him. He narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything. They stepped quickly through the station and Maes felt his excitement turn into annoyance and trepidation as he heard a few snickers from the men in the station. It was feeling less like a lead and more like the amateur police station trying to pull a joke on a superior officer. They came to the cell and Maes’ eyebrows climbed up his face and his mood took a sour turn.

A little boy covered in the plaster debris of the terrorist attack earlier that day was sitting in the cell. He looked miserable. Maes felt his stomach turn as he saw the missing arm and the prosthetic leg. The child couldn't have been more than seven or eight. He was bleeding from a few small superficial cuts and was curled into himself, trembling.

Rage replaced his trepidation as he faced the ignorant police man who was gloating over having caught a kid. The rest of the station was fine with letting the man play a fool and with not only wasting Maes’ time but torturing this poor child. 

“This is the suspect?” Maes asked, making a marked effort to keep his voice level.

The man grinned smugly and Maes clenched his fist as he heard one of the man’s fellow officers snicker.

“Caught him at the scene of the crime, running away,” the man acted like the cat who caught the canary, not even aware of the situation. It was idiots like this who gave the police force their bad reputation.

Maes nodded his head slowly, eyes trailing to the boy. Round gold eyes were staring up at him in terror and angry defiance. The man grabbed an old leather bag and pulled out some papers.

“He had this on him,” the police officer said with smug self-righteousness.

Maes took one of the offered papers and was surprised to see an alchemy circle on it, an accurate one if the little he knew about alchemy was correct. Suddenly the rage at this being some practical joke vanished and he was once again genuinely interested. Alchemy was an incredibly difficult practice, few were knowledgeable in it and even fewer were capable of practicing it. If the Olallie group had gotten their hands on an alchemist it would explain all of the sudden and seemingly impossible terrorist attacks of late which had been occurring around the city, explosions and other crimes that seemed impossible unless you factored in the use of alchemy.

It was likely too that they would recruit a street kid like the one in front of him, children were easy to manipulate, not suspected, and very easy to get rid of when necessary. It made him sick, but it was a plausible thing.

“Get this,” the man said, triumphant grin spreading wider, “he had the nerve to say he can do alchemy.”

Maes raised a brow. Only a prodigy could hypothetically do that, and he had never heard of one. He looked to the boy.

“I-I can!” The boy piped up, voice quavering, his protest a desperate one while his eyes blazed with anger.

The man sneered and Maes’ hackles rose.

“Really, then prove it you little street rat,” the man shoved a paper at the boy.

The boy fumbled to take it. Maes watched with pain as the boy struggled to kneel, his prosthetic not cooperating, before sort of tumbling to the ground. The boy righted himself and placed the paper on the ground. He placed a hand on it, but his hand was shaking so bad he couldn’t keep the paper still. A few moments passed and nothing happened.

“See? Little liar,” the officer bit out.

The boy looked like he was about to cry.

“I can,” he plead, “I really can, I’m not lying, I don’t know anything about what happened at the building, I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Maes struggled to hold the gaze of the child. A hand was thrust out by the officer and a handful of cenz was shown.

“And he had this on him, must have stolen it.”

Maes looked to the boy. The boy glared, fury muted by the fear that was still in his gaze.

“I didn’t! I didn’t steal it!” He protested loudly.

Maes was quiet, looking at the boy. The officer seemed to want some commendation as he stood there expectantly.

“Thank you, officer, you’re dismissed, I want to speak with the boy alone, I hope you have a private room.”

The man nodded enthusiastically.

“We can take him to the interrogation room right away.”

The boy paled. The officer waved to some men and they roughly seized the boy, Maes watched them escort the boy to a room a little ways down the hall before he turned to one of the officers.

“I want some first aid items, and some hot water with a cloth. He should’ve been treated as soon as he arrived here,” his tone was recriminatory and the smug police officer seemed to note for the first time that he wasn’t going to be awarded.

“This is unacceptable behavior, not following basic protocol with prisoners, complete disrespect regarding civil liberty laws. You’re lucky we don’t have a law representative from the commons advocate here citing the many violations I’ve seen just now. I’ll be speaking with your superiors.”

The joking atmosphere which had been in the police station since Maes had walked in dissipated instantly and all humor fell away from the men’s faces. Maes just looked inscrutably at them, feeling that the fear was quite justified. He then stepped into the interrogation room.

The boy was sitting in a chair, looking quite small and very frightened, somehow though he managed to glare fiercely at Maes. Maes smiled warmly, placing the bowl he’d been given on the table and moving over to the boy.

“Hi, my name is Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, what’s yours?”

“Ed,” the boy bit out, eyeing Maes suspiciously.

“That’s a nice name, is it short for Edward?”

The boy nodded warily and Maes smiled kindly in return.

“I was thinking we could clean you up first, take care of that nasty cut on your head,” Maes left the statement open-ended, allowing the boy to make a decision and to give him back some control, “that alright with you?”

The boy hesitated before nodding. Maes used the cloth to clean him up, gently clearing away the grime and carefully taking care of the small cuts. The boy watched him with wary eyes, amber gold orbs intensely focused on Maes. When he was done the boy seemed to have relaxed some and he looked less suspicious. Maes stood up and moved to the chair across from the boy.

“Are you hungry? Cold?” Maes asked with concern.

The boy shook his head no. Maes doubted it though, the kid was probably quite hungry, if Maes went by how thin he was.

“Alright, Ed, I’m here because I needed to ask you a few questions. You’re not in trouble and when you’re done you can go home. Do I need to contact your parents?”

Ed’s face fell and he shook his head no. Maes felt his heart tug at the plight of orphans. 

“This is pretty impressive alchemy,” Maes said, holding up the page from before.

“You said you’re the one who wrote it?”

The boy nodded his head yes. That wasn’t the answer Maes had been looking for. He suspected that the boy worked as a runner for the Olallies, hired to carry important alchemical work in order for it to slip by weapons checks and other things, no one would search a little crippled boy. The boy also had a certain guilt about him which seemed to suggest that something was going on that wasn’t quite legal.

“It’s pretty impressive stuff,” Maes said, keeping his tone light. He needed this break, he needed to crack the Olallie case. People were dying because of this group, innocent people.

“Can you tell me where you learned how to do it?”

“Books,” the boy said quietly.

Disbelief filled Maes, books? Not even experienced alchemists could learn certain things from books, Roy had explained the complexity of alchemy to him one time, or at least tried to, and this was no simple thing. He just nodded though instead of calling the child out.

“That’s very impressive, you must be a bright young man. So, I am interested, what kind of work do you do?”

Maybe the boy would slip something when talking about where he got his money. If he worked with the Olallies then they would be the ones giving him money. Like he suspected, the boy flushed with guilt and sort of shrugged.

“Nothing,” he said.

Maes smiled, “That’s a decent amount of pocket money you had for doing nothing.”

The boy looked even more guilty. Maes felt disappointment fill him at how reticent the boy was being. It was to be expected though. This was a delicate situation and it needed to be worked a certain way. This was going to take more than a one twenty minute talk. Maes though would do whatever it took to close down the Olallie syndicate, patience for a child would be one of the easier things he had had to do.

“Can you think of anything you saw during the explosion, before or after?”

The boy shook his head no.

“Alright,” Maes said, smiling once again, “well, that’s all. Why don’t I get you home?”

The boy gave another nod and Maes stood up, carefully ushering the child out. He gave a few orders and finally exited the police station. It was getting dark and the temperature had dropped. The boy began shivering and Maes took off his overcoat and draped it over the boy. Ed flinched in surprise but drew the warm coat around himself.

When they came to the car, Ed stopped and stared at it distrustfully. Maes noticed and stopped with his hand on the car door.

“I promise, 2nd Lieutenant Killinger is a very good driver.”

Ed still hesitated, shifting his feet, unwilling to get in. Maes tried to make sure he appeared as non-threatening as possible.

“You’re not going to put me in jail?” The boy asked, looking warily at Maes.

Maes shook his head.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he replied.

Finally Ed acquiesced.

They climbed into the car and Maes kindly relayed directions from Ed to the driver. They wound their way west, entering shady streets and finally stopping in front of a littered alley entrance.

Maes stepped out with Ed and gestured to the driver to wait. Ed turned to him.

“You can go now,” he said.

Maes didn’t move though, “Let me walk you home, make sure you get there safe safe.”

The boy shook his head no.

“This is where I live, so you can go,” Ed said.

Maes felt frustration rise. He wasn’t just going to lose his key witness, not like this. He needed a tie to the Olallies. The boy was staring mulishly at him, one arm clutching Maes overcoat close to his trembling body. Maes cussed in his head, sighing as he let his eyes close momentarily. Opening them he smiled kindly, pulling out a card.

He held it out to the boy. Ed frowned but quickly snatched it, staring down at the small white piece of paper.

“If you need anything, Edward, or if you remember something, you can call me. The operator will let you through if you use the word on the back. No payment necessary. Is there anywhere I can find you?”

Maes doubted the boy would answer honestly, but it was worth the try, he wasn’t going to hold him hostage at the police station.

The boy seemed to consider the question for a while, debating on whether or not to answer. Finally he spoke.

“I go to Morrison’s grocery, on Pillard street, sometimes,” the boy mumbled before turning to go.

He smiled wanly as the boy turned and jogged in a limping gait down the alleyway, disappearing.

 

 

Ed made his way down the alley, a frown on his face. That officer had been really friendly. That and he hadn’t pushed, hadn’t demanded, and most importantly had given back Ed’s money. He moved toward a building, an old broken down warehouse that wasn’t in use.

Ed didn’t trust people on principle, generally they screwed you over or did what was best for themselves while screwing you over. This man had been different though. Ed moved through a small hole in the side of the warehouse.

Frowning, Ed tugged the coat closer. It was thick and warm, very good quality and no doubt something the man would miss. He moved past and around some trash and into the main room of the warehouse. It was empty and filled with broken machinery which the boy nimbly made his way around. It was cold and appeared uninhabitable, a dark place that was unwelcoming. All the while, Ed was thinking.

The question was, why had the police officer been so kind? Was he really to be trusted? Ed had faced nothing but derision from the blue coated workers of the military, civic keepers of peace or what not, and he held low opinions of them. 

Ed made his way to the basement door and they went down the steps. He entered a warm basement area, a wide open room with a low ceiling. A furnace and generator were in a corner of the room and the entire place was an amazing contrast to the warehouse above. In another corner was a funny bed, a sort of nest made up of a bunch of blankets and pillows.

It was warm and homey in a quaint sort of way. There was a long, low table that took up one whole wall and it was arrayed with tons of different machine parts and tools. A small boy with gold hair was seated in a wheelchair facing it, tinkering away with some small motor.

“Hey, Al!”

The boy turned, spinning his wheelchair. He had, instead of legs, two stumps at mid-thigh. The boy’s face was initially a smile, warm joy on it.

“Brother!” He cried, a brilliant smile lighting up his face.

“Al!” Ed cried back, his own smile moving crookedly onto his face.

Al’s smile faded though as he took in the damage to his brother’s prosthetic and the overall dishevelled array that was Ed.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Al said, wheeling forward. 

Ed backed up, the ten year old moving to avoid his brother’s worried hands.

“I’m okay, nothing bad really, just messed up my leg a little,” he reassured.

The wheelchair bound child still looked hesitant.

“Really, Al, it’s nothing.”

Al acquiesced. “Alright, just, let me fix it at least.”

Ed moved forward, grabbing a pair of crutches before sitting down on a rickety old chair near the long, low table. He set about removing the prosthetic and handed it to his brother. Al set it to the side, on the table, turning to Ed.

“Let me look at the connector, make sure it’s not damaged.” He motioned to Ed.

Ed scooted forward a little bit and let his brother carefully unclasp a device that was strapped to his leg end. Al took it, but not before eyeing his brother’s stump. The area was slightly red from chafing.

“You let gravel get in there, it must hurt,” Al said, a frown on his face.

Ed shrugged but didn’t argue as his brother fussed over him before finally waving him away so he could fix the prosthetic.

“You need a new coat, it’s getting cold, that one you have, it’s too big,” Al called over his shoulder as he focused on the busted leg in front of him. Ed knew his brother was just saying that because he didn’t like Ed stealing. In fact, if Al could help it he never wanted to do anything illegal. A coat was a coat though, better to live than die.

“I didn’t make anything today,” Ed replied. It was a lie, he had made stuff, and the strange policeman had given his cenz back, he just wanted to surprise Al with the mittens.

Al didn’t go out often, psychosomatic pain prevented him from attempting to use prosthetics and he was content to stay in their cozy little basement while Ed traversed the world of Central Amestris. The few times he went out though he loved it, was enamored with the world of people moving around and about. Ed knew Al got lonely, hence the many cats that somehow ended up in their home, and he wanted to let his brother know that he was thinking of him.

“Has the generator been holding up alright?”

Al let out a soft ‘hmm’, too preoccupied to really listen. Ed used the crutches to move over to a makeshift cupboard. He pulled down a can of beans and some cheap bread. He began prepping it. 

They were both geniuses in their own rights, Al being skilled with mechanics and Ed skilled in alchemy. It worked, their little game of survival, but Ed was worried, always worried. Sometimes life had a way of stealing away the things that made one happy.

 

 

Maes got home late that night, mind spinning with the possible break in the Olallie case and even more so stuck on the sight of the crippled child. He wanted to do something, anything, to see him taken care of. The child was obviously an orphan on top of being crippled and handicapped. Maes was stunned and moved by the amazing ability with which the boy had adapted to life.

Gracia welcomed him through the door with a kiss and the wonderful aroma of her cooking, it made him smile.

“Hey honey,” he said, shucking off his gloves and placing them in the hall closet.

“Where’s your coat?” Gracia asked with a frown.

“Someone needed it more than me,” Maes said, recalling the entire day.

Gracia gave him a funny look but didn’t say anything more, the two of them moving to the kitchen where dinner was laid out. Maes felt gratitude overwhelm him, tears welling as he thought on how lucky he was. This was his, Gracia was all his, this home and the comforts around him which so many were denied. Seeing the amputated limbs of the boy had brought back the harsh memories of war and he couldn’t help but feel the heavy weight of survival on his mind and heart. 

“You look beautiful,” Maes said, catching Gracia by the wrist as she moved about to set the last dishes down, and pulling her into his arms.

Gracia let out a laugh, confused as her husband buried his face into her hair and just held her.

“Maes, dinner will get cold,” she lightly admonished, worry filling her as Maes didn’t let go but seemed to clutch her tighter.

He didn’t want to let go, nor to return to a world where crime occurred daily and children could lose their arms and legs and no one cared.

“Maes,” Gracia repeated, pulling back with a frown on her face. She looked up, contemplating her husband.

“What’s wrong?”

Maes smiled, trying to engulf the view of his wife and cement it in his brain. He wanted to force this happy, simple scene to replace the memories and fears of people dying that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Nothing, I just love you,” he said.

Gracia smiled softly, still frowning a little. She reached up and patted his cheek lovingly.

“Why don’t we eat and we can talk later,” she said, finally breaking away.

Maes relented, nodding his head while he quickly pecked his wife on the cheek. Maes seated himself at the table and they began serving themselves. It was silent for the first few minutes that they ate. They made small talk after that, nothing serious being said. It wasn’t until after, when Maes was washing the dishes while Gracia wiped down the table and counters, that his serious mood came back.

“Honey, what do you think of kids?”

Gracia turned to Maes, a surprised look on her face.

“Well, I like them I guess, I haven’t really given it much thought,” it was a partial lie, Gracia hadn’t given it much thought, she’d just planned her entire life with the idea that someday she would have children. It wasn’t something though that Maes had ever brought up and they had only briefly discussed it back when the two had first met.

“What about adoption?” Maes asked, tone unreadable.

Gracia was even more surprised by this.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind,” she replied, stopping in her ministrations to the counter to stare at her husband’s back. Curiosity filled her.

Surprisingly that vein of conversation died and Maes began talking about what they would do for their second anniversary. It was a month away but he wanted to plan it out. The evening passed pleasantly, but Gracia’s mind was weighed down with thought along with her husband. She knew he was thinking about something serious, something work related which had gotten to him.


	2. Chapter 2

Ed woke up writhing from a dream, Al's gentle hands pulling at him and his soft voice begging Ed to come back. Ed took deep gasps of air, clenching his eyes shut in an attempt to make the images go away. His closed lids merely continued a reenactment of the images more vividly.

Ed snapped his eyes open again and saw Al's worried face looking at him.

“Ed?” Al said hesitantly.

Ed felt his emotional composure collapsing and his face scrunched up as tears threatened.

“Ed?” Al repeated, a little more insistently.

Ed started bawling turning on his side and clutching at Al with his arm. All hugged him back, two arms looping around Ed and holding him tight.

“It's okay, it's just a dream,” Al soothed.

It wasn't though, it wasn't, Ed thought desperately. It was memories, returning as nightmares. The whistle and crash of mortars, the never ending screams, Aunt Lane's broken body strung out on the road in several pieces from an anti-personnel mine. It was Al's high cry as he stared at bloody stumps of twisted flesh and white gleaming bone which had once been legs. It was the sensation of the entire world upending to only come to on the ground, leg missing and an Amestrian soldier who was a medic desperately tying the wound off only to be shot after he'd finished making the tourniquet.

Ed whimpered and his crying became more pronounced. Al tightened his grip on Ed. He had these memory dreams too, and Ed always comforted him after.

After several minutes, Ed stopped crying and drew away, feeling guilty and weak. He was the big brother, he was supposed to be strong and unafraid, he couldn't be weak and let Al down.

“What was it about?” Al asked softly.

Ed hesitated. He didn't like telling Al, but sometimes if he put the dream into words they forgot to come back when he was sleeping.

“It was Aunt Lane again,” Ed mumbled, turning away from Al in their nest of blankets.

“Oh, I've had that one,” Al said, empathizing.

Ed wormed further under the blankets, just wanting to move on and pretend the dream didn't happen. Aunt Lane's death was something both of them had frequent nightmares about, among other horrors of the war.

“Good night brother,” Al didn't push him.

Ed murmured a reply and the two drifted back into uneasy sleep.

When Ed awoke in the morning it was to the painful chill seeping through their usually warm little home. Ed knew it was the generator, it had either run out of fuel or it had decided to give up the ghost. Ed glanced over to Al who was nestled deep in the covers of the blankets, a tuft of hair only visible and his soft even breaths proving he was still asleep.

Ed wasn’t very good with machines, with building things, Al was the one who was good with them. However, he didn’t want to wake Al up. Carefully rolling out of the bed, Ed grabbed his prosthetic and began strapping it on. Al had finished it yesterday, working quickly. He’d claimed it was ready to be retired and had promised Ed that he would start working on building Ed a new one.

Ed hissed at the cold of the connector, but it fit smoothly on. Al had cleaned it out. Ed then attached his prosthetic. Standing up, he put weight on the prosthetic and felt it hold him. It also bent now, the joint no longer stuck as it had been. Ed grinned, Al was a genius. He snatched his red coat and slipped it on.

Hobbling as quietly as he could toward the generator, Ed shivered and wrapped his coat closer around him. It was really cold. He examined the old steam turbine generator and frowned. The combustion chamber was cold, the entire generator was off. Ed stared at the metal barrel of coal in the corner and wondered if Al had forgotten to check the generator before going to bed. He probably had, worried about Ed’s prosthetic.

Ed turned as he heard the shuffle of blankets and saw as Al pulled himself into his wheelchair. His brother came over, old work gloves on his lap along with his spanner. Al grumbled something, yawning as he pushed his wheelchair past Ed.

“Is anything wrong?” Ed asked, worried about the rest of winter.

Al shook his head and mumbled something out before making a shooing gesture at Ed.

“Breakfast,” Al said, blinking groggily as he pulled on his gloves.

Ed smiled and gave a nod. The morning meal was a slice of bread with old lard and some water. Ed prepped it, before moving over to Al who was tinkering with the generator. Ed held out the bread and Al opened his mouth, snatching it between his teeth without stopping his work. Ed shrugged and watched Al work for a little bit before glancing about the basement. The coat the soldier had given him caught his eye and his gaze settled on it.

What was his name? Maes, Maes Hughes. He was a Lieutenant Colonel. Ed shook his head, no point in thinking about it, he had no intention of calling the man. He vaguely knew who the Olallies were and he had no intention of telling Maes Hughes anything, even if he did know something. They were dangerous, a lot of shops on Pillard and throughout western Amestris paid dues to them, Ed had seen what they did when someone didn’t make their payments.

Ed shuddered at the thought. The generator came on, a hiss of steam and the familiar whir and click Ed had become accustomed to hearing. He stood then, Al still fiddling with things, and made his way over to where he’d draped the coat. No point in letting it go to waste.

“Hey, uh, Al, I’m gonna head out again today,” Ed called, pulling the coat on over his own.

It was much too big, but it was very warm and if he rolled the sleeves it was like a huge cape of sorts. Ed could fix that in a jiffy. Heading over to another table, one much smaller than Al’s workspace, Ed began shuffling through a large pile of papers. Finally he found the one he’d been looking for. Grabbing a pencil he made a few quick alterations to the paper before moving to the center of the room and setting the paper on the floor with the coat on top. He placed his hand on the pile and a flash of light burst through the room. When he’d blinked back his eyesight, he saw the coat, just a smidge too big for him.

Ed grinned, pulled it on and gloried in the warmth it helped capture and hold. The extra material had been put into padding for the coat, and it was exceptionally warm.

“See ya, Al,” Ed called, pulling his bag onto his shoulder and heading out the door.

There was a muffled farewell and then Ed was headed through the warehouse and back out onto the streets of Amestris.

 

OoO

 

Maes Hughes woke early the next morning, eating a hasty breakfast Gracia had prepared for him. His car was waiting and soon enough they were moving through the traffic clogged streets. Maes yawned from the back seat, staring out the window, eyes skipping over the drab grey buildings and the fine sprinkling of snow which had fallen over night; a hallmark of the start of winter. 

The boy was stuck in his mind. He was sure Ed knew something and he felt like if he was just given the chance he’d be able to get Ed to talk. Maybe he could even try to help Ed with finding a home, possibly convince the boy that nearly anywhere was better than being on the streets.

Maes let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. There were a lot of ifs to his plans and he knew from experience that more often than not an ‘if’ in police work never panned out. Besides he had other things to worry about. Roy was visiting Central from Eastern, for a promotion, and Maes would be able to speak with his friend in person for the first time in months.

He also had a few other cases he was still working. There was the death of a private, it looked like a suicide but Maes had always been thorough in these types of affairs. The private had jumped into the river, plenty of eyewitnesses, yet his body hadn't yet been retrieved, the river icing over just days after. That and a complaint filed by a restaurant against a group of Lance corporals and PFCs, he had been called in because charges were being threatened. The Public Relations department was having a field day with that case, the last thing the Amestrian Military needed right now was bad press. The people were already slamming them about the apparent free reign of the Ollalies.

Soon enough the car pulled up alongside the military buildings. Maes thanked the driver and stepped out. The change over from the biting cold to the heated building was a wonderful relief. Maes stepped quickly toward his office. When he arrived he tugged his old overcoat off, Gracia had pulled it out of their storage, and then his gloves. He got a few 'good mornings’ before he stepped into his office, door ajar, and sat down to begin work for the day.

 

OoO

 

Ed headed toward Pillard street and the grocery he occasionally hocked his cozen alchemy wares at. He wasn’t going to sell anything, not today at least. Usually he waited a while, until money was about gone and until people forgot about their dud papers. Ed also would rotate where he sold his papers at, it was best to choose areas of transience where you weren’t likely to see the same people again. 

Summer time was usually his best months, he’d go to the markets and festivals where people were visiting and had money to spare. Winter was the most difficult time of the year. Though honestly Ed and Al were only their second year into living in Central. Before that they’d been refugees and before that they’d lived with Aunt Lane and even farther back, to memory neither he nor Al really remembered, they had lived with their mother. She’d died when Ed was four. 

But that was the past, a place Ed couldn’t afford to live in, not if he wanted to keep him and his brother alive and fed.

The wind was blowing bitterly today, but Ed’s new coat was thick and he felt warmer than he had for a long time when walking the streets. There was the same hustle and bustle, streetcars flying past and the crowds swelling. Ed had gotten up later than he’d meant to.

His first stop was to a small shop which made up the line of stores that were strung along Pillard. Stepping in, he sniffed, the shop being not much warmer than outside. An elderly man with a well-kept moustache and beard was seated at the counter. Ed looked about, resisting the urge to browse and day dream and wish. He already knew exactly what he needed and exactly where it was. Stepping past the wares, Ed made his way to the back where some clothing was kept. He smiled as he saw the bright red mittens he knew Al wanted. They had been put in the shop window back in November but had now been moved to the back.

Ed grabbed the mittens and made his way to the front. The old man looked up from his newspaper and eyed Ed critically over his glasses.

Ed set the exact amount of money necessary and the gloves on the counter. The old man made the exchange, one wary eye on Ed.

“You shouldn’t get in fights,” the man grumbled.

Ed blinked, unsure what the man was talking about. Then he remembered the bruises and small lacerations on his face from the explosion yesterday.

“Yes sir,” Ed mumbled, just wanting to get out of the shop without any trouble.

The purchase was made and Ed fled.

His next stop was to the grocers, it was the cheapest place to get food, most of the time, and Ed needed to pay Rostman, the shop boy for Mr. Poll, his twenty percent.

Glancing around to gain his bearings, Ed was surprised to find a pair of eyes on him. Ed looked away quickly, but the sharp malevolent gaze stayed. Ed glanced back quickly, just to check. The man, a tall auburn haired man with a beard and dark eyes, was still watching Ed and keeping pace with him. Ed swallowed hard, breathing picking up.

He quickened his pace, rational mind trying to focus on what he needed to do. He needed to pay Rostman and get food, then he could give this guy behind him the slip on his way back to Al. Nothing to be worried about.

Ed made it to the grocers in a few minutes. The man behind him never left and his eyes were still focused on Ed. It made a nasty pit of unease open in Ed’s stomach.

Ed stepped into the grocers and saw Rostman stocking potatoes. Stepping over he ran his fingers over the pre-counted change in his pocket. Parting with the cenz was difficult, Al and him needed it. Rostman saw Ed and big nasty smile spread across his face.

Ed hated Rostman.

“Hey Eddie.”

Ed said nothing in return and instead withdrew the money. Rostman’s smile grew and the young man put his palm out. Ed deposited the money into Rostman’s hand. He watched it disappear into Rostman’s apron. Ed felt bitterness rise in him, Rostman probably didn’t even need the money, he was just a greedy bastard.

“Gonna pick up food?” Rostman asked.

Ed gave a nod of his head, already moving towards what he intended on getting.

“Be quick, alright, you’re missing arm freaks people out, Mr. Poll don’t need to be losing anymore shoppers because of you.”

Ed said nothing, having to bite his tongue from cussing out Rostman. He hated Rostman.

Ed was halfway through when he heard the bell ring and someone step into the store. He was hidden by a row of dried goods. The feeling from before, the unease and worry, returned. Ed peeked around the corner and saw the man from before. 

Rostman was talking to him, rude as ever. Ed saw the man’s posture stiffen and then Rostman went very pale. Ed saw the gleam of something silver flash between the two. Rostman raised his hands, shaking his head. Ed heard the loud crack of a gun. Ed flinched, Rostman toppled over and the man turned around. Ed ducked back behind the row of dried goods and tried to keep his breathing steady.

Eyeing the entrance, Ed peered past a jar of pickles to see the man stepping further into the store, a gun in his hand. Ed sprinted towards the entrance and yanked the door open. He didn’t wait to look back, instead moving as quickly as he could to the thickest part of the crowd outside. Pushing his way through, he chose a shop at random to enter. The shop was a second hand clothing store and there was a gaggle of women inside that had the attention of the shopgirl, they looked to be her friends. Ed took advantage of this and ducked behind the counter where he knew he would be completely out of sight.

Sinking to his butt on the floor, Ed closed his eyes and gulped past the terror. He didn’t know the man, but he’d had a gun. Ed tried to think about why anyone would be after him. It couldn’t be a jilted customer could it? No, that didn’t make any sense. Ed tried to recall everything he could’ve done that would cause this.

Yesterday, the explosion, getting picked up by the police, the questions about the Olallie gang. The Olallies had people everywhere, and if someone had seen Ed get picked up so close to the explosion, then maybe. But still, it didn’t make sense. Unless someone explicitly had said that Ed was involved and had squealed. But he wasn’t and the Olallies knew he wasn’t a runner for them.

Ed shook his head, he couldn’t think about this right now, he just needed to get out and away. Stuffing his hand into his pocket, Ed felt Lt. Colonel Hughes card in his pocket. The man had said to call if he needed help. 

Ed was a jaded kid, he’d learned that life was hard and that more often than not, adults didn’t care about you. Experience told him that he shouldn’t trust Maes Hughes but part of him wished it to be otherwise, part of him believed in Maes Hughes. That tiny part, nearly extinguished by the Civil War and his abandonment, prompted him to call. 

Glancing around, Ed saw the telephone screwed to the shop wall on his side of the counter. Ed memorized the number and the word before standing up and going over to the telephone. He punched in the numbers. A female voice, soft and clipped, answered and asked him first for the word. Ed gave it and then she asked him who he wished to be put through to. Ed said Lt. Colonel Hughes name.

The phone rang.

 

OoO

 

Maes Hughes was looking over the suicide case, the private’s personal files splayed across his desk along with the typed eyewitness accounts and the military’s formal report of his death and dishonourable discharge. Maes sighed, looking at the picture of the private. He was basically a kid, nineteen this year and barely out of basic. His friends had said he was happy, engaged to a girl, and supported by his family who was now grieving. It was depressing and it made Maes sad.

The kid had had so much to live for. Maes knew too well that suicidal thoughts could come up, even when a person was apparently happy. But this case, something about it seemed wrong and rubbed Maes the wrong way. He just couldn’t say what.

The phone rang. Maes, thoughts filled with the case, absentmindedly answered.

“Lt. Colonel Hughes?”

It was a high voice, a child’s. Maes blinked in confusion.

“Yes? Who is this?” Maes asked, racking his brain for who could be on the line.

“Th-this is Edward,” the child sounded scared, their voice cracking and their breathing accelerated.

Maes was suddenly extremely invested in the conversation. He unconsciously leaned forward on his desk, one hand seeking out a pen and some paper while the other clutched the phone close to his ear.

“Yes, yes Edward, what’s going on?” He tried to sound calm, not letting how excited he was show.

“There’s this man, he’s following me, he shot someone, I don’t-you said I could call you, if something happened,” Ed sounded terrified.

Maes felt his heart swoop. The kid was in danger.

“Where are you? What’s going on right now?” He asked, keeping his voice level and calm.

“In a store, I hid there after, what should I do?”

“Can you see him at all? Is he still following you? Are you safe?” Maes asked, standing up and moving to pull on his coat while the phone receiver stayed in his hand.

“I don’t know.”

“Alright, just tell me where you’re at, I’m going to come and get you and take care of the man,” Maes promised.

“It’s Pillard street, near Poll’s Grocery.”

Maes opened his mouth to say something else, but Ed let out a gasp and there was the sound of a woman’s angry voice in the background. A moment later the phone was hung up. 

Maes threw the receiver down and burst out of his office, one glove on and his overcoat on.

“Get the car ready, now, we need to leave,” Maes ordered.

His assistant jumped up, saluting before snapping out a prompt ‘yes sir’. 

 

OoO

 

The car ride over was a painful suspense. Maes was turning over the events in his mind and he couldn’t help but feel that he was responsible for the boy’s condition, at least partially. If he hadn’t asked the questions he had, if Edward hadn’t been picked up, then the boy might not be in danger. The true ones at fault were the Olallies, for taking advantage of a child and then for having absolutely no morals. Maes’ whole team was accompanying him and weapons were at ready.

They pulled up to Pillard street to see an average crowd. Maes got out of the car, two cars behind him filled with a ten man team.

“It’s Poll’s grocery, I want you to start getting civilians back,” Maes ordered a First Lieutenant Vogel.

The man saluted, and proceeded to spread out. Maes turned to his group.

“I want a three man team to accompany me into Poll’s grocery. The rest will help establish a perimeter and keep the crowd back.”

There was a chorus of ‘aye sirs’ and the men scattered. Maes moved with three men toward the grocery. Maes held point, one of the men holding the door open while they cleared the room. Maes felt his stomach drop when he spotted the body behind the counter. They finished sweeping the room before one of the men rushed over to the body. A few seconds later they rose up and shook their head.

Maes said nothing, mouth tightening. Edward had said he was in a nearby shop.

“Make sure to call it in, I want this so don’t hand it over when the local police show up,” Maes instructed.

Then he stepped out of the store. If anything, police involvement had caused the crowd to amass and now a group of spectators were peering in interest past the perimeter his men had established.

Maes eyes roved the streets. Edward had said he was in a shop. There had been a woman’s voice. It wasn’t much to go on.

Maes looked, he sent his men into neighboring stores, but he didn’t find Edward or any sign of the shooter.

Watching the body be bagged and placed in an ambulance, Maes decided that he needed to find Edward before the boy was the next victim.

 

OoO

 

Ed was caught by the shop lady, she started shrieking at him, calling him a vagabond and thief. The other girls in the shop started screaming as well and Ed dashed out of the shop before one of them had the forethought to grab him.

Outside he saw no sign of the man. Ed still didn’t relax, rushing back towards home. He ducked into the first alley he saw and then began a complicated trek which looped and wound through the vein work of Central. When he felt satisfied that he’d done enough leg work to throw off his possible pursuer, Ed slowed down and tried to gather his thoughts.

His mind immediately flashed back to Rostman’s body collapsing to the floor. He shuddered. Ed had already seen so much death in his life, one more body shouldn’t have bothered him. However, it reminded him of the many, many corpses which had lines streets, filled ditches. Of burnt corpses and the scent of burning flesh that rose from the pits that acted as meager graves.

Ed shook his head to clear his thoughts. He finally reached the abandoned warehouse which Al and him lived at. Creeping past broken machinery he made his way down.

The basement was warm and Al was seated on the bed, massaging his legs with a look of pain. When he saw Ed he immediately smiled and sat up.

“Ed!” He cried, looking overjoyed to see his brother back.

Ed smiled in turn and moved over to their little broken locker that they kept food in. He began depositing the few items he’d brought with him and had been unable to pay for.

“How was it?” Al asked, staying on the bed.

Ed shrugged.

“It was cold.”

Al nodded his head. Ed finished putting the food away, finding the mittens he purchased at the bottom of his bag, all but forgotten. A smile tugged its way onto his face and he remembered that there was at least one good thing about today.

“Hey Al,” Ed said, walking over to his brother.

Al looked up, a curious look on his face.

Ed pulled out the mittens and proudly offered them to his brother. Al’s eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open. He reverently took the red mittens and traced them with his fingertips. Ed watched expectantly, a little anxious smile on his face.

“So? Do you like it?” He asked.

Al looked up at Ed.

“Bu-but I thought we didn’t have enough cenz?” He said.

“I’ve been saving,” Ed admitted, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

Al’s eyes grew watery and Ed became alarmed as his brother started to cry.

“What’s wrong?” Ed asked in alarm.

“Nothin’,” Al said, wiping at his eyes. “I love them.”

Ed grinned, accepting his brother’s hug and feeling like something was finally going right.


End file.
